


Prompt and Circumstance

by arenoseAnima



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Body Horror, Cannibalism, Eye Trauma, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-12-17
Updated: 2012-05-29
Packaged: 2017-10-27 10:58:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 5,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/295070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arenoseAnima/pseuds/arenoseAnima
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I asked for prompts on tumblr, and this is the madness that spawned from them. Not sure what I'll do when these tags reach critical mass. Thanks to tumblr user gazetteauteur, otherwise known as Mongoose, for totally enabling me all the time, and extra thanks to everyone else who's sent one in!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Anonymous asked: Terezi eating delicious red things >:]

“Excuse me, ma’am,” the Macy’s clerk says, unheard by his target. He raises his hand, then puts it down at the urging of the short and stocky troll standing a respectable distance from the thresher slowly working its way through the flannels section.

“She’s on a fucking roll, don’t bother her unless you want to break in a plastic hand on your weird human bulge.” Karkat pushes the clerk’s hand down to his side again, and together they stare at the pile of winnowed green, grey, and blue making its home in the middle of the aisle. “Terezi,” the troll hisses. No answer. “ _Terezi_.”

“Don’t bother me, this is  _delicious_!” comes the sybaritic moan from amidst one of the clothing racks. The non-red flannels are untouched, providing a curtain to hide Terezi’s horrific meal from the rest of the store. “Why don’t we come here more often?!”

“Because I knew you would  _eat the god damn clothes_. We’re going to have to  _pay_  for all this shit!” Karkat’s fingers dig into his scalp as he takes a moment to pull his hair; it never calms him down, but he figures it’s worth the effort just in case. “We don’t have the money to pay for…” He pauses, looking to the clerk. “…how much has she, uh, gone through?”

“Twenty items,” the clerk tells him, a bit pale in the face. Karkat groans and buries his face in his hands. “ _Fuck_.”

“We can afford to go out to eat once in a while!” Terezi sweeps the surviving clothes away with her arm, revealing herself in the midst of a woolen crime scene. Red threads still hang from her lips, until she licks them away with an enormous sweep of her tongue while Karkat watches in dismay.

“I fucking  _knew_  I should have left you with John. At least then you assholes would only have blown up a city block or something.”


	2. silentnitemagic asked: Lord English / Vriska Sekret - McDonalds

Vriska stands to the side of the counter in the local McDonald’s, the picture of a sullen teenager, her arms crossed and her headphones crammed into her ears. Her cloud of sulk doesn’t quite reach the cue-bald head of the enormous green man standing next to her, his arms crossed and hips cocked in a nearly identical posture. His eyes sweep around the seated patrons and the others in line; everyone avoids his gaze with a look of distinct discomfort.

“Two Big Macs, two large fries, large and medium drink,” someone behind the counter says. Vriska doesn’t hear, and English is too busy leering at the closest window. The employee waits a few moments, staring at the pair, then announces the order again. Her response is greeted with another wall of silence. She leans forward and pounds her palm on the counter a few times.

“WHAT?” English snaps, his head turning to the counter.

“Your order is ready, sir!”

The green man stalks past the line and looms over the c ounter, trailed by the troll girl a fourth of his size. “Fool,” he hisses. “How can you expect to serve me…

 ** _WHEN I AM ALREADY HERE_**?”


	3. Anonymous asked: terezi/vriska kismesistude

You tug the pull-rope to ring Terezi high in her treehouse and stare up at the lift swaying so far above you. You almost swear you can hear the tinkling of the bell, and her approaching footsteps, but you know from experience that it’s too far away - that’s what the bell is there for, duh. When you spot her approaching, though, you look away, surveying the forest with your most imperious expression and scuffling your shoe back and forth in the grass and dirt. Maybe she’ll choke to death on a dust cloud.

No luck this time. She hauls her way down - she’s got some fucking  _strong_  arms, you would know, god would you ever know - with excruciating slowness. She knows you’re waiting. You know she knows you’re waiting. Your knees wobble a little; you’re practically seeing spades already and you’re not even face to face with her. …until the lift touches down and she’s there in front of you, only an inch or two shorter but somehow filling up the whole forest. She grabs you by the claw-horn and turns your head so you  _have_  to look at her. You give her your best sneer, which is hopelessly outshone by her own.

“I knew you couldn’t last a week,” she breathes in your face, breath tasting of chalk. Instead of rising to her bait (absolutely rising to her bait) you lean forward and kiss her hard, enjoying the moment of soft lips before she rakes her teeth over your mouth. She shoves you backwards; you take extra-large steps so you’re going a little faster than she can push you, until you slam skull-rattlingly into a tree and she’s pinning you there, practically climbing onto you as her tongue corkscrews into your mouth.

Ooooooooh  _yeah_. This is  _definitely_  what you were missing.


	4. antarcticaccordant asked: Hooooow about some hot Vriska/Aradia black romance?

You can see the mustard-yellow flash enveloping the meteor long before you see the barest hint of your friends riding it. Sollux blinked out beside you a while ago; you know you should be worried, but somehow you know it’ll all turn out alright. The meteor is still coming, after all, wrapped up in the safety of his color.

You make sure you’re there waiting for them with open arms when they arrive. You embrace each of them in turn - their numbers have waned considerably, but you’ll fix that too, all in good time. 

And then you see her crumpled on the floor, cerulean soaking through yellow and orange.

 _Stop_.

Time is immaterial here where you’re all bathed in green light, but you’re a  _god_. The grains of sand cease their falling, and you fall to your knees on the ground, touching her cold face, raking your fingers through her limp hair, kissing slack lips that should be fixed in a slicing smile. You shake her shoulders, but of course nothing happens. Tears run down your face and drip onto her, joining the mess already making her chest sodden. Hate wells up inside you - not for her, that sweet familiar bile that begs to be brushed over all her wounds, but twisting crunching anger for the one who did this to her. You would know that clean sword wound anywhere.

But you can put away anger. You have more important things to worry about, and Terezi is as vital to your mission as anyone. But… there is  _something_  you can do.

You stand up and brush the droplets of blue blood off you, flicking them onto the metal floor.

 _Rewind_.

And then you’re standing in her hive back, so far back on Alternia, familiar drafts lapping around your feet. Just being here makes that dark, secret place low in your belly throb with heat, the place that you only ever let her see and touch. You run up the stairs, then remember you can fly; her bedroom is a moment’s effort away.

Vriska is sitting on the edge of her recuperacoon, touching the freshly-blue join of her shining metal arm to her body. Tears dribble down her cheeks. Ah. You know when this is.

She looks up, and her one remaining eye widens in confusion at the sight of you. “Aradia? But you’re - “

“Shut up.” You cross the room as fast as you can, and you’re in her arms in a second. Both of you go toppling into her recuperacoon, but you don’t care. Your slime-ruined clothes are cast aside in moments. You can barely think, can barely chain event to event as her mouth finds your neck and collarbone and shoulders, as her knife claws dig into your hips. You can feel her bulge slipping and slithering against your belly - _oh_ , she’s always so  _eager_. You muffle a moan in her mouth and fold your hand over the delicious warmth on your stomach, stroking it, feeling how much she wants you in every tremble and stuttering breath. Your own bulge is wrapping around her thigh while you lovingly abuse her with your nails, but of course she ignores it. That’s what you  _hate_  so much about her.

She pushes you against the inner wall of the recuperacoon and straddles your hips. Your bulges twist together; it feels achingly, ecstatically, blindingly good, the muscles rippling and slick noises filling the cocoon. Her bulge starts to slide around the base of yours and seeks your spread, wet, waiting nook, a crooked section of it working you open more while the tip gets its bearings. She has a heady, triumphant grin, her mouth dripping where you bit her, lips still smeared with your blood, red and blue mingling beautifully. 

She slides into you, bulge curling and coiling, and her grin is washed away in the blackest tide you’ve ever seen. She crumples on top of you; there’s no room for anything else now but the movement of your hips, the slap-slap-slap of your bodies in the slime, your legs arching up on either side of hers and your toes curling. You spill filthy words into her ear and she returns them eightfold. As aching as you were, as needy for each other’s company as you’ve been, your tryst is short. She spills her thick - always so wonderfully thick - load of genetic material into you with a long, low groan, her legs twitching slightly. You kiss her once, and then

 _Play_.

you’re standing on the meteor in the Outer Ring again, dressed, prim and proper as anything, Vriska’s body at your feet. She owes you now. You  _like_  it when you owe each other, you think, your moment’s grief supplanted by the earthy satisfaction you only ever get from Vriska. And it’s always  _so_  much better when you wait.


	5. gazetteauteur asked: Nepeta wants to go do something with Sollux while he is attempting to do some coding on a laptop.

On the edges of your brain you are vaguely aware of somebody doing something really fucking annoying. But you’re almost ready to compile this code, so you ignore it for now. At least until something starts poking you in the shoulder. You swat it away - probably a bug or something, those huge mosquitoes fly in here all the fucking time if you leave a window open - you flail around with your brain for a couple of minutes, looking for the window, and only succeed in knocking a bunch of shit over. Great. You’ll have to pick that up later, you  _guess_. But it can wait. You’re so close to compiling you can  _taste_  it, and it tastes  _awesome_.

And then somebody flops over your hands on the keyboard, completely obscuring the husktop screen. You gape for a moment. …oh, right. You were hanging out with Nepeta. Oh,  _shit_ , you were hanging out with Nepeta! She glares at you and swats your glasses off your face, sending them skidding across the floor. You try to grab them, can’t get your hands out from under her, reach out with your brain again and tip over one of your hiveframes.  _Fuck_.

“You said it’d be two minutes,” she growls, her brows furrowing. “It’s been two  _hours_!”

“I thaid it’d be  _clothe_  to two minuteth,” you correct her hastily, tongue tripping over your fangs. She socks you in the side of the head, sending your eyes out of focus. “Shit! Don’t  _hit_  me, I didn’t know it’d take thith long!”

Nepeta slides off your hands and into your lap. You swallow in sheer terrified reflex and type out a bunch of gibberish as your fingers twitch. “I remembpurr just what you said, and it wasn’t  _that_!”

“Do you think I would’ve thtopped  _making out_  to  _code_  if I wathn’t sure it’d only take a couple of minuteth?!”

She regards you flatly, arms draped over your shoulders and her fingers running up and down the back of your neck. “Yes.”

“…well - ” Her lips press up against yours again, and all the windows in your respiteblock slam shut as your brain crackles and fizzes. When she breaks the kiss without you doing much of anything besides wondering why she wants to make out with a guy who so obviously has no fucking clue what he is doing now or ever and probably never will oh fuck you’re going to be sitting in your boxers coding bullshit for the rest of time, her scowl has softened into a pretty dopey-looking smile. You muster all your trollgrit and kiss her sort of on the chin.

“Dumbass,” she sighs, her smile growing, and she snuggles up to your chest, tucking the top of her head under your chin. A low, thrumming purr comes out of her after a couple of seconds. She might be asleep, or maybe not. You can never tell, and frankly you’re not sure it matters anyway. 

You rest a hand on her back, holding her closer, and backspace the line of bullshit you typed to get started on some fresh code. After all these sweeps you’re pretty good at typing one-handed.


	6. gazetteauteur asked: alpha!Mom somehow hacks into Rose's computer and finds her wizard fanfic.

“The plaits woven expertly into Zazzerpan’s billowing beard unraveled as he strode down the grand hallway, moonlight streaming in through the crenellated windows. He had departed one lover to meet another - it was time for his fortnightly tryst with Rumplepoot in the castle’s grand ( _already used that — magnificent? arcane? eldritch? recondite?_ ) library. He pushed open the enormous knotted oaken doors and stood silhouetted in the moon’s silvery rays for a moment, his robes billowing around his shiny, knobbly knees.

‘Zazzerpan,’ breathed Rumplepoot. He rushed towards Zazzerpan with his arms out, and they two embraced in the moonlight, their robed bodies pressign together as thier hands slipped up intop eaoch itohers’ robsd”

TG: portip  
TG: *prootip  
TG: fuck whatever  
TG: if you see some unnknown connection on your netwrok  
TG: DONT  
TG: OPEN  
TG: IT  
TG: for teh loev of fuck jane  
TG: im going to need to taek to drink  
GG: TAKE to drink?  
GG: Hoo hoo! 


	7. gazetteauteur asked: John and Vriska play a video game and John absolutely destroys her in it while Vriska smacktalks him and attempts to retain her composure.

“You’re supposed to get  _more_  stars, Vriska,” John laughs, swinging his controller in an arc that almost catches Vriska on the horn.

“I’m playing the  _loooooooong game_ ,  _John_! If you knew  _anything_  about games and how to  _win_  them you’d know that! Anyway I don’t know why you’re playing as that dumb mushroom thing, this eight-legged swimmer is clearly superior.”

“Toad is  _great_. And squids only have six legs, come on, can’t you count? Oh man, you _can’t_  count, can you! That’s why you’re losing so hard!”

“What?! I thought they were - I thought two legs were covered up!”

“Nope! No wonder you’re so crappy at this!”

“I -  _ha_ , see, I stole your star!”

“I still have like twice as many as you!”

“Shut up!”

“No,  _you_  shut up!”

“Shut  _up_ , John!  _Aaaaaaaargh_!” Vriska hurls her own controller onto the couch and shoves John. He sprawls backwards, landing in a half-empty bowl of popcorn with an undignified squawk. Vriska whirls and stomps upstairs, cerulean-faced, her brow scrunched down and her fists balled at her sides.

John watches with an expression of the very purest dismay. “Vriska, wait, I was just playing around… wait, come on, don’t go!”

“ _I hate you to death_ ,” comes the howled reply.


	8. psiidmon asked: Nannasprite keeping Davesprite sane on The Battlefield during the three year yard.

Davesprite floats over the hole drilled in the Battlefield, his tail swirling in the wisps of wind still drifting up from the depths. He scratches his feather-stubbled chin and stares down into the pit, his expression unreadable.

A pie sails past his head and a muffled “ _golly_ ” is audible from behind a nearby hillock. He smiles, just a little, and drifts over to the checkered ground.

“Hey,” he says to the old blue woman hiding there. She adopts an expression of mock innocence, then dissolves into chortling giggles. Davesprite smiles a little more, but the gravity drip of joy vanishes shortly. “She tell you? Three years of this.”

Nannasprite was readying another pastry-based weapon, but she lowers it with a sigh. “She told me,” she says. “But three years is better than  _ten_  years, young man! We’ll be out of here in no time, just you see.” Her large teeth poke over her lip as she summons up another smile, seemingly brightening the battlefield around her. “It’ll  _really_  be nothing for you after all that time travel, and it’s a blessing for me to get  _any_  extra years. It’s not so bad, you see?”

Davesprite considers for a moment. He touches the tattered remains of his wing and the orange blood soaking his bandages. “Do you think I’ll - “

“Hush your tongue! Sprites are much sturdier than we look, you know! You’ll be just fine, with a little tender loving care. Do you know how to bake, young man?”

“Never wanted to.”

“We have plenty of time to learn!” Nannasprite waves her arm, and an oven appears with a sprightly pop. Davesprite pinches the bridge of his nose. This is going to be a _long_  three years. But at least, he considers, he has someone to spend it with.


	9. kelpplankton asked: john gets bitten by a radioactive vriska

“I’m sorry,” says the voice on the phone. “There’s been an accident.”

You’re there before you can even worry, your body suddenly full of choking, burning adrenaline and running on autopilot. You drive better than you’ve ever driven in your life. There’s a cloud of smoke already dissipating above the plant where she works, and half the parking lot is enclosed in a white plastic tarp. A man in orange overalls comes quickly to your car, which is good, because when you get out your knees buckle. He catches you and helps you up, and you share an awkward  _thanks_  and the unspoken camaraderie of disaster victims.

He leads you to the tarp, explaining things to you that you would have no hope of understanding even with a four-year degree. You gather that there was some kind of meltdown and that it’s contained now, but the damage is probably irreversible for all the workers that were caught inside. That word,  _irreversible_ , spins around inside your head and knocks pieces off your skull. He says that there might be a possibility of seeing your Loved One (you can practically hear the capital letters, and you’re almost too stunned to substitute  _Vriska_ ) if they can detoxify them quickly enough - 

\- and then there she is, shoving past the grasping hands of FEMA agents trying to hold her back, naked as the day she was hatched. She flings herself into your arms, and as you clutch her to you you feel a horrible warmth coming from her. Her hair is coming out in clumps, her horns are flaking, she’s blubbering like a child into the crappy undershirt you threw on. She sobs “I love you, I love you, John,” and you respond as best you can when you’re shaking so badly you can barely even stand. She presses her face to your neck in clumsy kisses, you feel her teeth break skin just a little, neither of you care just as long as you can hold her.

And just like that, as soon as she came out, she’s being dragged back in. She goes limp when they take her out of your arms, her wide yellow-blue eyes staring through you. There’s a long moment of silence.

“I’m sorry, sir,” the worker says, his voice thick with genuine apology. “We’re going to have to take you in too, now.”

Thank god.


	10. docsnofeld asked: Dead Nepeta and Hearts Boxcars debate at length over their new double-session dead-and-alive shipping wall.

“That shit ain’t canonical,” Boxcars says. He’s sitting crosslegged on the floor in some cave with dead animals everywhere, staring at a crosshatched blood-covered wall with a troll girl he’d dwarf on a bad day. Hell if he knows where he is - last thing he remembers before waking up to Nepeta sitting on his chest is a bright blue flash tearing up the sky - but he figures this isn’t such a bad way to spend his time, all things considered. There was never much opportunity to drink tea with the Crew, and even though he hasn’t cracked a head in a couple of days, this troll girl makes  _good_  tea.

“Who cares about canon?” Nepeta scoffs. Her paintbrush and a few pots of paint are balanced on her knees, her fingers stained with grub blood. “The whole  _pawnt_  of shipping is to expurrlore stuff that isn’t touched on in canon! Why would you stick to canon ships? That’s  _boring_.”

“Boring or not, how are you going to know how they interact if they’ve never interacted?” Boxcars props an elbow on his knee and puts his chin in his hand, then takes a sip from the teacup he’s holding. He can barely fit even his pinky through the handle. Nepeta keeps reaching out whenever it looks like he’s about to drop the cup. She’s wearing his hat, and the brim is about at her chin. He thinks it looks like it’s eating her head. Cute.

“Welll that’s where the fun is!” she says brightly, picking up one of her paintbrushes and dipping it in red paint. She circles a picture on the wall - two trolls holding hands, one of them with tall, wavy horns and the messiest hair he’s ever seen, the other with pink goggles. “You get to make stuff up!”

“Yeah, okay,” he concedes. “I guess I see where you’re comin’ from. Canon is still more fun, though. Here, lemme see.” He holds his hand out, and she gives him a paintbrush; he wets it with white paint and circles a drawing both of them worked on, of her riding on his shoulders. She grins and leans over, tipping most of her stuff off her lap, to hug him. He gently rubs the space between her shoulders and chuckles.


	11. Anonymous asked: Nepeta<3Terezi ROL3PL4Y >;]

“These are very serious allegations, Bursar Specklebelly.” Terezi paces slowly around the scalemate in its chair, and around Nepeta in the chair adjacent, bound and gagged. She was having fun, but Terezi told her it was more exciting if she pretended to struggle, so now she’s wriggling about in the chair and rocking it back and forth, making muffled noises into her gag. This  _is_  fun! She hushes up when Terezi is talking, though. She wouldn’t want to miss anything important.

“The Pouncellor has been one of my closest confidantes for longer than I can even remember, and to accuse her of treason is…” Terezi stops in front of Specklebelly and leans over him, her shadow blotting out the light from the single naked lightbulb dangling from the ceiling. Nepeta giggles through the gag, but manages to stop when Terezi kicks her lightly in the leg. “…unthinkable,” Terezi says, trying not to laugh too. She unsheathes her sword and rests the tip against the scalemate’s chin. Nepeta gasps, to provide dramatic tension of course, and then Terezi falls prey to a giggle fit. Her hand twitches, sending Specklebelly’s head flying off. It bounces against the wall and rolls to a stop in the corner of the room.

Nepeta wriggles out of her bonds and falls to her knees, wailing. “Oh  _no_ , Legislacerator! You’ve cut the Bursar down in his pri - “

“No, shush! He was a traitorous fool!” Terezi reaches down and pulls Nepeta to her feet, her face still all twisted up with laughter. “He deserves what he got! I can only thank you, Pouncellor, for your timely distraction!”

“No, I must thank  _you_! You’ve saved my life and my repawtation!” Nepeta rests her hands on Terezi’s shoulders, and her eyes go wide as she stares into Terezi’s. She can’t gaze  back, but she gets the gist of it. There’s a moment of _really dramatic_  silence.

…and then they both burst out laughing, crumpling into a pile of hysterical troll.


	12. Anonymous asked: Can I ask for Karkat<>Kanaya, where Karkat is in doubt about his moirallegiance with Gamzee?

CG: ARE YOU STILL AWAKE?  
CG: I MEAN, I’M SURE YOU HAVE BETTER THINGS TO DO THAN STARE FISH-EYED AT THE SCREEN ALL DAY WHILE YOU WAIT FOR SOMEBODY TO MAYBE POSSIBLY NEED TO TALK TO YOU.  
CG: LIKE... PRETTY MUCH ANYTHING ELSE, SINCE THAT’S WHAT EVERYONE MAKES YOU DO ALL NIGHT ANYWAY.  
CG: FUCK, WHY AM I EVEN BOTHERING.  
CG: JUST THINKING OF GETTING YOUR ADVICE ABOUT THIS IS A HEINOUS ACT OF ADULTERY AND I SHOULD BE CULLED WITH EXTREME PREJUDICE FOR BRINGING IT UP AT ALL.  
GA: Yes Im Here Karkat What Is It  
CG: OH MY GOD, YOU ANSWERED.  
GA: I Have Come Down From On High Because You Interrupted My Web Browsing Yes  
CG: WHY DIDN’T I PREPARE A SCRIPT OR SOMETHING IN THE EVENT THAT YOU WERE ACTUALLY THERE.  
CG: I THOUGHT YOU FORGOT TO SHUT TROLLIAN OFF.  
GA: Like I Said I Was Idly Scrolling Through A Forum Wishing You Were Here Actually  
GA: Whats This About Adultery  
CG: TONE DOWN THE GOD DAMN FLIRTING!  
GA: What Flirting  
CG: OKAY, YOU KNOW WHAT, THIS IS BULLSHIT AND IT WAS AN IDIOTIC IDEA TO BEGIN WITH. I’M JUST GOING TO GO AND RUB MY HORNS ON A CHEESE GRATER UNTIL THE SHAVINGS FILTER INTO MY THINK PAN.  
CG: THAT’S A MUCH BETTER WAY TO SPEND THE WEE HOURS OF THE DAY.  
GA: Are You Going To Sit Here And Flagellate Yourself Until I Block You Out Of Pure Exasperation  
CG: NO! NO. SHIT.  
CG: I JUST.  
CG: I NEED ADVICE.  
CG: TELL ANYONE AND I’LL FLING MY SICKLE SO HARD OUT THE WINDOW IT’LL FLY ALL THE WAY OVER THERE AND CUT YOUR HIVE IN HALF.  
GA: Oh I Wouldnt Want Any Impromptu Hive Trimmings  
GA: My Advice Tankard Is Yours From Which To Quaff  
CG: IF YOU COULD FIGURE OUT HOW TO USE YOUR VIEWPORT YOU’D SEE I’M INSENSATE WITH LAUGHTER.  
CG: NO, WAIT, THAT’S MY GASTRIC POUCH TRYING TO EXPEL ITS CONTENTS! MY BAD.  
GA: It Happens  
GA: I Hear Tell Your Laughter Resembles The Retching Of A Troll Slowly Expiring From Poisoned Grubloaf Anyway  
CG: WOW, SOMEBODY GOT UP ON THE WRONG SIDE OF THE RECUPERACOON.  
GA: Highly Impolite  
CG: FUCK YOU, STOP DISTRACTING ME.  
CG: I SEE YOU TYPING. STOP TYPING.  
CG: GOOD.  
CG: ALLOW ME THE FLOORSPACE TO DESCRIBE THIS FUCKING SPIKEBALL OF A PROBLEM, WHICH YOU WILL ENJOY CRACKING BECAUSE CRACKING SPIKEBALLS WITH THE ADVICE NUTCRUNCHER IS BASICALLY ALL YOU DO.  
CG: YOU KNOW GAMZEE AND I ARE MOIRAILS, RIGHT?  
GA: Oh You Didnt Tell Me This Was Romance Advice  
GA: Arent You The Undisputed Master Of All Quadrants Or Whatever You Had That Certificate Made Up To Say  
CG: I DIDN’T HAVE IT ‘MADE UP,’ FUCK YOU VERY MUCH, IT WAS GRANTED TO ME BY A FELLOW AUTHORITY ON THE SUBJECT.  
CG: FOR SERVICES RENDERED.  
CG: STOP DISTRACTING ME!  
CG: HOW DO I EVEN SAY THIS. UHH.  
CG: UHHHHH.  
CG: HE’S A PIECE OF SHIT BIG-TOP-HUMPING BULGE-FOR-BRAINS AND I’M ALWAYS TERRIFIED THAT IF I TRY TO PACIFY HIM I’M GOING TO LOSE AN ARM.  
CG: HE’S GREAT AT PACIFYING ME, BUT HE’S LIKE TWICE MY HEIGHT AND HE COULD BENCH PRESS THE BATTLESHIP CONDESCENSION. I’M KIND OF USELESS AGAINST HIM.  
CG: I DON’T THINK I’M A VERY GOOD MOIRAIL, AND IF I’M NOT A GOOD MOIRAIL THEN THE WHOLE THING KIND OF BREAKS DOWN BECAUSE I HAVE ALL THE BRAINS IN THIS DIAMOND.  
CG: SOMETIMES I THINK HE FORGETS TO FEED HIMSELF ON PURPOSE SO I HAVE SOMETHING TO TICKLE HIS FRONDS ABOUT AND DON’T FEEL SO USELESS.  
CG: WHAT SHOULD I DO?  
GA: Well You Obviously Have Doubts About The Power Balance In Your Moirallegiance  
CG: WOW, NO SHIT! DO YOU WANT ME TO ‘MAKE UP’ A CERTIFICATE FOR YOU TOO?  
GA: I Said Obviously The Word Is Right There On Your Screen Karkat  
GA: It Was A Lead In To Further Advice  
GA: You Could Talk To Him About It And Come To Some Kind Of Agreement  
CG: DO YOU KNOW WHAT HE WOULD SAY IF I TRIED TO HAVE A PRODUCTIVE CONVERSATION WITH HIM ABOUT THIS?  
CG: HONK HONK, MOTHERFUCKER, YOU ARE ALL UP AND A LITTLE MIRACLE. YOU JUST LAY RIGHT DOWN ON GAMZEE’S COUCH AND LET HIM PAP YOUR CARES AWAY. DO YOU WANT SOME PIE, MY INVERTIBROTHER?  
CG: AND THEN I WOULD FEEL EVEN WORSE.  
GA: So You Cant Talk To Him About Anything Without Feeling Smothered  
GA: What Do The Two Of You Even Do Together  
CG: MOSTLY HE TRIES TO PUT PAINT ON ME AND I SWAT HIS HANDS AWAY.  
CG: SOMETIMES HE STARTS CRYING ABOUT HIS LUSUS.  
CG: BUT THAT ONLY HAPPENS WHEN I HAVEN’T BEEN OVER FOR A WHILE.  
CG: ...SHIT, WHAT IF HE CAN’T FIND ANOTHER MOIRAIL AND HE SNAPS AND DOES SOMETHING AWFUL?  
GA: Dont Worry About That Right Now I Think The Danger Posed By You Being An Inadequate Moirail Is Far Worse  
CG: GEE. THANKS.  
GA: Sorry  
GA: If You Cant Talk To Him And You Cant Pacify Him I Only See One Option Here  
GA: Im Sorry Karkat  
CG: WHY DID I EVEN BOTHER ASKING? I KNEW THE ANSWER TO BEGIN WITH.  
CG: I’M A SHITTY MOIRAIL, I’M A SHITTY QUADRANTMATE, AND I SHOULD CULL MYSELF BEFORE I END UP SOMEHOW SQUIRTING MY WORTHLESS GENES INTO THE COLLECTIVE DESTINY OF OUR SPECIES.  
CG: WHEN I FINALLY EXPIRE THEY’RE GOING TO DECLARE AN EMPIRE-WIDE HOLIDAY.  
CG: IT’LL BE CALLED “THANK GOD KARKAT IS FINALLY OUT OF OUR HAIR DAY.”  
CG: OR KARKAT’S DEAD DAY FOR SHORT.  
CG: IT WILL BE THE COMPLETE OPPOSITE OF A WRIGGLING DAY IN EVERY RESPECT. THERE WILL BE PARADES IN THE STREETS AND WILD DEBAUCHERY IN EVERYONE’S HIVE.  
CG: THEY WILL DEFECATE ON MY MEMORY BY ENJOYING THEMSELVES.  
GA: Oh Youre Still Going I Went To Get A Drink  
CG: YES, I’M STILL PRATTLING ON. BOO HOO WOE IS ME. I SOUND LIKE ERIDAN.  
CG: AT LEAST HE HAS A MOIRAIL!  
CG: FUCK!  
GA: For What Its Worth  
GA: I Would Be Delighted To Have You Wriggling In My Hair Or Whatever You Said  
CG: WHAT?  
GA: Youre A Mess Karkat And You Know How I Feel About Messes  
CG: OH MY GOD.  
CG: YOU’RE FLIRTING WITH ME AGAIN.  
CG: HOLY SHIT.  
CG: CAN’T YOU REIN IT IN FOR ONE FUCKING MINUTE, MARYAM?  
CG: YOU HAVE A MOIRAIL, TOO.  
GA: What Was That You Said About  
GA: Adultery  
CG: OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD. FUCK. FUCK!  
CG: WHAT THE FUCK!  
CG: WHY DO I WANT THIS. WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME. DID YOU SEND SOME KIND OF SHITTY PHEROMONE AT ME THROUGH THE COMPUTER.  
CG: DID YOU USE MOIRALLEGIANCE POLLEN ON ME.  
GA: Ive Got The Box Set Of ‘In Which A Single Female Legislacerator Negotiates Various Temporary Romantic Entanglements In Conjunction With Her Caseload Etc’ And A Pint Of Seadweller Surprise Ice Cream  
GA: And Im Wearing Sweatpants  
CG: ...  
CG: I’LL BE RIGHT OVER.  
CG: YOU SEDUCTIVE PIECE OF SHIT.  
GA: I Try  



	13. supey asked: what if terezi could fit her curled-up knuckle right in vriska's empty eye socket

Terezi likes admiring her handiwork. She likes holding Vriska there, one palm flat against her forehead while she trembles and sweats, and she likes curling her finger just so, so she can work it into the ruin of Vriska’s left eye. Most of the debris is gone by now, and it’s just smooth bone around her finger, the racing torrent of Vriska’s thoughts only a claw-flick away. Vriska doesn’t even squirm any more; she just stands there, pinned in place, while Terezi gives her lip-tearing kisses and twists her finger in the socket like it’ll unlock something she’s never been able to reach. Her own eyes are still there, of course, even though they’re burned to uselessness and still leak fluid down her face now and then. Vriska takes her pleasure from Terezi’s tongue flicking against the wind and her cane tapping the ground, and, naturally, the fact that Terezi needs to _touch_ to exult in her victory. And in turn, Terezi wins _because_ she has to touch.

It is a very complex dance.

And when Terezi takes her finger out and licks the flecks of blood and optic nerve away, all Vriska’s pompousness is back, even though her voice still carries a tremble of fear and desire. She never has to ask Terezi to touch their wound. She always knows.


	14. gangstertierskari asked: Alright; How about Metric’s “Help, I’m Alive”?

Vriska can hear her mother eating as she marches the second half of her latest conquest into the web. The slick sound of mandibles passing through flesh and bone is as familiar to her by now as the beating of her own blood pusher. She’s learned how to block out the thoughts of her opponents now, and what a relief _that_ is. Not that it bothered her or anything, to hear them screaming and sobbing and begging for their lives. That just means she won! And Vriska _loves_ to win. Winning is her favorite thing to do.

The cloud player finally takes the last shaking step off the path and falls into the spider’s waiting web. The spider scoops the troll into her jaws without even having finished her last meal, and there’s a squirt of green blood as she bites down. There’s no thank you, but there never is. Vriska steps to the precipice - her mother opens her mouth again in anticipation of another meal, but Vriska just rests her remaining hand on the spider’s face, in between a pair of eyes. If she ignores the wet chewing noises, she can almost imagine the giant creature is pushing her head fondly against her hand.

Vriska looks down at her other hand, the metal one. She’s already had to screw it back on once today, and now it’s been nearly severed at the wrist - a lucky strike from her lusus’ first meal. It doesn’t hurt, but it feels like it should. A few wires are sparking. She steps back again, safely away from any twitching limbs, and looks up at Equius’ hive across from hers, blotting out the moons in the sky, blue light shining through the windows in twelve-pane cutouts. Vriska can almost hear his voice now - _broken again? Such a shame, but I suppose no better can be expected from you_ \- and her gut wrenches with nausea. She turns, leaving her mother to her meal, and begins to trudge up the long staircase to her workshop. She can probably fix the arm, and if she can’t?

Well, it doesn’t really matter.


End file.
